


they fall in place

by livennadin



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Car Accidents, Collaboration, F/M, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Minor Injuries, Post-Break Up, behold the power of editing and writing together, i need to get up for school in 3 hours haha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-01 21:41:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14529774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livennadin/pseuds/livennadin
Summary: How Bokuto Koutarou and Akaashi Keiji fell into pieces, then with many mistakes, fell back into a rhythm.





	they fall in place

**Author's Note:**

> This is my take on Bokuto's POV for [Ness'](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BnessZ/pseuds/BnessZ) story. I really do think you should read [when pieces fall](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14515350) first, and then this! 
> 
> Ness, thank you for letting me join you in this story! I truly feel like i've learned from you in the last week or so we worked on this, plus it was so fun!

_ 1 hour after; 1 year and 7 months and 11 days before _

  
Something’s dripping... somewhere. Koutarou can’t really tell what he’s registering: Is it the tears rolling down his cheeks or the blood painting his knuckles deep red before dripping onto the floor?  
  
He doesn’t – _can’t_ – dare to picture the face or to give a sound to that name. Trembling and in a flurry of _why, why, why, what have you done_ , he finds himself slouching down on a bar stool, the furniture under him looks just as cheap and hollow as he feels.  
  
“What’s the strongest thing you have?”

  
  
  


  
_7 days after; 1 year and 7 months and 4 days before_  
  
He was getting used to the creaking of that one stool underneath him; hence why he’s leaning on a different counter,  slurring his demand, wickedly chanting the name of the same drink.  
  
Koutarou sips once, sips twice: he’s gotten really good at kissing bottles as of late.  
  
It’s too sharp when he can actually think – and relive the same moments over and over _and over again_ , it’s too hazy when he downs the burning liquid mercilessly, forcing his thoughts into one inseparable mess of dark swirls.  
  
He’s got some kind of bandage orbiting the knuckles of his right hand, it’s dirtied with whatever sort of alcohol Koutarou spilt on it. So he yanks it off. The skin stares angrily at him in it’s raw, reddish state. He stares back. _You see_ , he thinks and decides that he’s talking to his body parts now, _you’re not the only thing hurting_.  
  
A hand clasps down on his shoulder after some time – Koutarou has no idea how much. Still, he has it in him to be surprised.

 

 He doesn’t feel anything, he reminds himself. Feeling would cost too high.  
  
“Picked a different bar today, huh?”  
  
Koutarou turns around slowly but the world still spins too fast for his liking.  
  
“Wha?” He hears someone ask. Oh that’s not just someone. That’s him. He chuckles. A funny guy, he is. 

  
Another hand slams some money onto the counter and joins the other one to lift Koutarou up.  
  
“You know what?” Tetsurou’s voice cracks and then suddenly there’s no earth under him! Oh wait, there it is again. He is stepping and walking. Huh, weird. There is his friend’s taller body next to him to lean on.  
  
“You know _fucking_ what?” Tetsurou’s voice wavers even more. It’s very heavy with... a lot of things, actually. An emotional guy, Tetsurou is. “I’d love to not be scared for my best friend’s life _every night_ he goes out to get _fucking wasted_ where I – where I don’t have nearly any way to reach him!”  
  
He sounds angry – no, no. He sounds sad, really sad. Koutarou hears himself hiccup, or is that a sob?  
  
“I’m sorry, Tetsurou.” He mumbles.  
  
“I know you are.” His friend answers. They must have gotten out of the bar now, because there’s wind on Koutarou’s face. There’s no grasping of time in his current state of mind, though. “But I worry.”  
  
The taller male glances down. His lips look like they have been having fights with his teeth – fights where they always lose.

  
Koutrou hums. Would  _ he _ worry? Not that he cares...but would  _ he _ worry if he knew?   


  
  
_3 months and 11 days after; 1 year and 4 months before_

_  
__6:38pm_ _  
_  
To: BROKURO  
i’ll be tkaing the kiddos to dinner tonitgh  
  
To: BROKURO  
i mean they jsut beat karasuno after all  
  
From: BROKURO  
oho good good..  
  
From: BROKURO  
excellent timing. me and daichi will head out too.  
  


From: BROKURO  
come stay tho. if you arrive earlier than us, make yourself at home.  
  
To: BROKURO  
sure i don’t hve these spare keys for notthinh  
  
  
 Koutarou strides down the hill to his mother’s home in too wide steps. The night air is cold enough to reenact timid needle pins on his face. His bruiseless hands keep a rhythm on his legs as he walks.  
  
 He lingered, walked around to get rid of some restless energy after a chorus of “Thank you, coach!”s and watching the high schoolers make their respective ways back. The hand that pats an offkey rhythm hits the phone in his pocket lightly, reminding him that he hadn’t checked it for hours now.  
  
 There are enough notifications for Koutarou to scroll down to the bottom to go in chronological order. The oldest notifications, two from Shouyou – sent at 6 pm – from a restaurant not far away, claiming that “Bokuto-san!!! The yakiniku is REALLY good here!! Promise i’ll bring you here one day :3” with a picture of the previously mentioned grilled deliciousness. There’s two or three texts from Tetsurou asking how his dinner was and informing him that he and Daichi will be out a little late if he should need them. But it’s the most recent ones that has his steps faltering, jaw clenching.  
  
_10:10pm_

From: Keiji<333

i jsut stil mss u so mch

 

_ 10:15pm _

From: Keiji<333

y did we brek up

 

_ 10:30pm _

From: Keiji<333

i cnt rmbr…

 

_ 11:06pm _

From: Keiji<333

inneed u.

  
  


 An exhale as shaky as his hands clouds in front of his lips. The hearts, the very letters are mocking him. He hadn’t bother delete the contact, it would be useless when he has the number memorized. But in a moment of flaring nostrils, he decides to act like he did delete the contact from his phone.

 

 Thus, with a vicious lurch in his stomach, he finds himself typing the name that hadn’t fallen from his lips – not even when he’s alone, not once for the sake of asking Tetsurou about him  – for months: The very name he chokes on and swallows back as he rolls on and under unfamiliar sheets with stranger bodies he won’t even remember in the morning.   


  
_ 11:30pm _

To: Keiji<333

...keiji?    
  


  
 Koutarou hates himself for the worry he still feels for him. _He didn’t text like himself_. Hates _him_ for crumbling months of tear strained self restraint with four texts. _Is he okay? Is he in danger, is he drunk?_ He hates the way his rib cage closes around his heart.  
  
 The phone in his unfair, too strong grip doesn’t light up with another text. Right. Of course it doesn’t.  
  
 So he kicks the grey, bland pavement stone closest, stomps a drastically different route and collapses on a cheap, hollow bar stool once again.  
  
  
  
_6 months and 25 days after; 1 year and 1 month and 17 days before_

  
 Tetsurou flinches when he sees Koutarou in the hallway as if he got caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing. The situation has turned him and Konoha into expert organizers, balancing the time they spend with both parties.

  
 Koutarou raises one eyebrow but doesn’t ask, he is adamant on not commenting on the subject.  
  
 “You’re up?” Daichi spares a look over his shoulder from where he stands, doing dishes.  
  
 “Yeah?” Koutarou answers, clear and loud unlike the mornings he reeks of alcohol and drags his feet loudly on the carpet Tetsurou loves too much. “There’s practice today.” He says as he approaches Tetsurou and snaggs his soggy cereal from him. One would think he’d stop stealing the other’s food, but years have done little damage on his appetite.  
  
“Right.” Daichi says. There’s a smile in his voice. “Don’t tire the kids too much.”  
  
 “Says you.” Tetsurou smirks as he hands his spoon to Koutarou. There is no way he’s getting his breakfast back, so he might as well let his friend enjoy it at least.  
  
 Daichi huffs out a breath as he walks into the flat, likely to go get changed. “I was a merciful captain, okay?”  
  
 Koutarou rolls his eyes as a smile carves its way on his face. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, just like how the rest of his smiles haven’t either for the last six months or so.  
  
 “You okay?” Tetsurou jabs a playful finger into his shoulder.  
  
 “Yeah, yeah.” He accidentally hits his teeth with the spoon and scrunches his face at the sound. “I am okay. Even dropped drinking and all that stuff.”  
  
 Tetsurou hums.  
  
 “It’s refreshing not having to worry about your liver.” He drops his head onto his palm and watches the golden eyed male next to him. “But you know what I’m talking about.”  
  
 Koutarou stills for a second – or two. It’s no surprise he remembers the date when he hadn’t forgot anything.  
  
 He nods curtly. “Just – just uh,” He closes his eyes and forces in a breath. “Can you stick close today?”  
  
Tetsurou smiles one of those smiles that speaks volumes for how silently and how much he cares.  
  
 “Of course, did you think I’d do anything other than that?”  
  
  
  
_9 months and 10 days after; 10 months and 1 day before_  
  
 Koutarou knocks on the door in front of him while bouncing on his toes. He has flowers in his hand – her favourite – snapdragons, a pink just a little shy away from red. He looked it up the first time she mentioned them and found out the snapdragons mean strength and grace, the first two words Koutarou would choose to describe Akaashi Kimie.

  
 The door opens and the woman smiles warmly, motherly at him.  
  
 “Koutarou! Come in! Come in! You decided to get our weekly tea on Tuesday this week, huh?”  
  
 Koutarou ignores the way her eyes stab and stirr something in his heart – Keiji definitely has his mother’s eyes – and smiles the best he can.  
  
  
  
_9 months and 15 days after; 9 months and 27 days before_ _  
_  
 Koutarou is walking towards the convenience store when he sees the person he lies to himself and says he last hoped to see. He registers that he gasped only after Keiji’s eyes find the source of the sound and focus on him.  
  
 Keiji looks paler than usual, with a shirt that hangs off of his shoulders and hair achingly messy enough for Koutarou to itch to reach out and tame with his fingers. A poisonous thought wondering if that shirt on Keiji is his new lover’s drips in his head.  
  
 The corners of his mind feels like they blur and he feels his thoughts fog over. Akaashi Keiji looks like he is and has been wearing thin for a while.  
  
 “Kei—“ Koutarou starts. Wait, he’s not Keiji to him anymore. He’s Akaashi again like everything in between didn’t even happen at the first place. He rubs the back of his neck, trying to give himself something to focus on other than him. “Akaashi.”  
  
 Keiji fiddles with his fingers for some seconds. Old habits die hard, Koutarou guesses. Still, he notes the bruised knuckles. It sends his already running heart racing. 

 

 A small “Bokuto-san.” reaches his ears. And he’s back at Fukurodani for a second, with far, far more scars than his high school self thought he’d have by his age now. He flinches before regaining the last bits of his focus.  
  
 “Uh, how... I mean...” _Don’t push, don’t push like the last time._ He nervously chuckles. _It wasn’t my fault. Or was it?_ He lifts his eyes to search for something he doesn’t dare to name – that’s when he notices the black eye. “Are you okay?”  
  
 “I’m fine.” _That’s a lie._ That’s probably what they’ll do now, lie. But Koutarou swears he feels the ghost of the punch Keiji took on his own face. _Who? Who did th—_  
  
 “Well,” Koutarou takes a deep breath that he hopes is grounding. “I should get going. It was—“ Keiji starts delivering. Ever the polite one. 

  
 “What happened?” His legs burn to take a step closer so intensely that he realizes he’s reaching a hand out to touch only when Keiji flinches. He looks so vulnerable and tired for a moment. Like a jar of lava has been broken in his lungs, an anger burns its way into his veins. “Who did this to you?”  
  
 Koutarou watches Keiji blink once, slow and heavy. “It doesn’t matter.” His voice cracks, just like it did the last time they spoke, or rather, argued and fell into pieces. “I’m fine.” He adds.  
  
 Koutarou has to look away, it’s all so familiar yet so far away. He comforted a Keiji that says the same unconvincing phrase so many times in the past. But now, he can’t, he shouldn’t, it’s not his place. His place is not next to Keiji anymore. His hands are shaking the next time he opens his mouth. “Ke—Akaashi—“ _Damn it. Why is it so hard?_ _  
_  
 “Keiji is fine.” Koutarou sucks in another breath. He heard that before, years ago in a sweaty changing room where they were both untangling new feelings and stuffing their jerseys into their sport bags. But it doesn’t sound like letting Koutarou further in his life. This time it sounds like giving up. 

  
 “Can we...” His heart is pounding as he refuses to look back at Keiji. Not yet. He can’t take seeing the younger’s expression when he says the next words. “Can we talk?”  
  
 “I—“ Keiji stammers. Koutarou hesitantly fixes his gaze back at him. The weight of the body in front of him missing from his arms is striking. Too much.  
  
 “I can’t.” Keiji says quickly. He terribly looks like he wants to run away.  
  
 Koutarou feels his mouth twitch before he remembers he should smile. He hopes the one he placed on his face is convincing enough. “Right, right.” _What did you expect?_ “I understand. Well, I’ll be off then.”  
  
 He takes a step back and turns around. His feet feel like cement. Still, his heart is full of water, clog, clog, clogging with every beat. 

 

 Despite every single pep talk he muttered himself, despite every single time he ran his hands down his face in bathrooms that smell like sweat, alcohol, numerous different perfumes and something infallible like heartbreak, he still awaits a hand he knows well to close around his arm, stopping him.  
  
 But it never comes. Akaashi Keiji is an overall confident person. He only hesitates and lets go when it’s Koutarou.  
  
  
_9:35 am_ _  
_To: Shooo  
you up?  
  
_9:50 am_  
To: Shooo  
shou let’s go for a run or smth bfore i go crayz  
  
_9:55 am_ _  
_From: Shooo  
lacing my running shoes rn  
  
From: Shooo  
where r you?  
  
  
  
  
 Again, at a bar, Koutarou trades his consciousness with a dirty blond liquid that doesn’t smell good at all. Tetsurou is texting with scrunched eyebrows. Koutarou tells himself that who he’s texting doesn’t matter.  
  
 He watches Kenma gingerly take away the beer from his hands as more murmurs tumble down Koutarou’s breath. He drops his head, plans to slam it on the table but Shouyou places a quick hand on his forehead and pushes the older male’s head back.  
  
 “Um,” He says and shoots Kenma a passing look. Tetsurou looks up then. “Bokuto-san...” He tries again.  
  
 Koutarou jumps at the name. It doesn’t feel right at the moment, even when it’s something that stuck with Shouyou all the way from high school, even when if it’s something Koutarou is normally okay with.  
  
 Shouyou flinches too. Koutarou barely hears the “Oh dear.” murmured from Kenma to his side. Still, Shouyou guides Koutarou to rest his head on his shoulder and pats him slightly on the shoulder. “It’s going to be okay.” He says into the half hug.  
  
  At the end of the night Shouyou pretends there isn’t a wet patch on his shirt, Kenma doesn’t mention the name Koutarou was chanting and Tetsurou holds his weight up as they wait for Daichi to pick them up.  
  
  
  
_10 months and 11 days after; 9 months before_  
  
Huffs of breath slip from his lips and mingles with the thumps of their steps. The city slowly blinks hello to them, yawns with occasional car sounds and barks in the morning. They’re dressed in sport attire, Shouyou has chosen the brightest windbreaker he could find, he shines as he runs next to Koutarou. The fitness instructor now knows not to speak and waste his breath when running, in contrast to the first times they started going for runs together.  
  
 “Just 50 meters left.” Shouyou reads from the phone strapped to his arm. Already? Koutarou didn’t notice. Lately he has been getting lost in his thoughts without entertaining any. His legs burn as if to remind his mind what it forgot, to remind that they have been running.  
  
 When they come to a halt Koutarou doubles over, how long did Shouyou make them run? The redhead giggles breathily somewhere close to him.  
  
 “You really are getting old, Bokuto-san.”  
  
 Koutarou ignores his screaming muscles and straightens, reaching and pinching the younger’s arm.  
  
 “I’m not old!” He says, “Daichi’s the one who has a soul old enough to put in a museum.” 

 

 That makes Shouyou laugh. His old captain still gets the same wrinkles when him and Kageyama were fighting, making him look above his age.  
  
 Koutarou hugs one leg, and then the other in order, to his chest like the warm ups he makes his students do. It relieves some of the tension from the exercise. Shouyou doesn’t look that tired, given he runs double time every day, in the morning and at night. He smiles and sends his freckles wrinkling.  
  
 “Say, Bokuto-san,” He toes the pavement beneath him as he speaks. “Do you have any plans today?”  
  
 Koutarou hums thoughtfully. “Just gonna check out that one flat later, why?”  
  
 Shouyou’s amber eyes widen before he can school his expression into a neutral one. “You, uh, you’re getting a place?” He coughs all of a sudden. “I mean, wow! You’re getting a place! That’s nice!” He lines with one breath. He’s been calculating and awkward for some time now, not quite knowing how to act.  
  
 Actually, a handful of Koutarou’s friends have been like that. “They’re not used to seeing you this... down. That’s why.” Tetsurou had explained before. 

 

 Still, droplets of guilt rain down in his stomach.  
  
 “Yeah!” He does his best to grin, does his best to not think of how he hasn’t been himself for a long time now. He does his best to not acknowledge how everyone notices. “It’s not-- I can’t stay over my mom’s place or Tetsu’s for forever, you know? Not like I don’t enjoy it. I love them but, yeah, my own place would be nice.” He shrugs a little.  
  
 A fire starts and burns out quickly in Shouyou’s expressive eyes but the redhead doesn’t mention how it awfully sounds like moving on. He flashes a sun touched smile instead: “Right. I’ll come help when you’re moving in!” He nods a bit and continues.  
  
 “I was gonna ask if you want to come over. Kenma’s making apple pie.”  
  
  
  
 After a lazy walk back where they chatter away, they are greeted by a chubby cat throwing itself onto their legs and a Kenma who has a faint smile on his face.  
  
 “Who in their right minds willingly goes running?” He asks as he stares them both down.  
  
 “We do.” Shouyou replies, wiggling out of his shoes and crouching to pet their cat.  
  
 “You should too, Kenma! Try it out.”  
  
 Koutarou decides his voice was light and happy enough to pass and makes his way further into the flat.  
  
 “Like hell I would.” The semi-blond mutters. “Okay, one of you goes and showers first and the other helps me in the kitchen while waiting for their turn.”  
  
 Shouyou and Koutarou sprints to the bathroom in the same time, laughing. It’s a moment that probably occurred before in their sibling like relationship but now, it’s more refreshing to Koutarou than the shower he won.  
  
 After drying and clothing himself, Koutarou makes it back into the kitchen. Something upbeat that he can’t quite name is playing in the background. The mixed smell of apple and cinnamon wraps around him, twirling. At his arrival Shouyou steps away from where he was draped over Kenma’s back while the latter tries to weigh the flour.  
  
 Koutarou feels bad for being grateful at the lack of pda from the couple.  
  
 “Finally, Bokuto-san. I thought with the speed you dashed to the bathroom you’d be done showering by now.” Shouyou says as he skips past Koutarou into the hallway.  
  
 He chooses just to yawn as an answer.  
  
 Kenma’s cat like eyes shoots up and he beckons Koutarou closer with them. “Can you crack 4 eggs into that bowl?”  
  
 “Sure thing,” he sings and touches his shoulder lightly to the other’s when he’s close enough. Kenma chuckles slightly whilst dumping the flour down into the same bowl. “You sound better.” He observes.  
  
 “I am better!” Koutarou answers maybe a little too quickly.  
  
 Kenma hums as he reaches around him to take the egg shells. “I’m gonna act like I believe that for the sake of the effort you put in.” He throws the shells away and sets his gaze steady on Koutarou. “It’s okay if you’re not. You can talk to me.”  
  
 Koutarou doesn’t return the look. He reaches and takes a whisk to work on the mixture. So that he’ll something to do with his hands other than clenching them. “I know, thank you. But I—“ he starts but Kenma cuts him off.  
  
 “Later. We can talk later. Everyone’s heading here in an hour – Keiji too. Will you be okay?”  
  
 Will he be okay? With the way his heart pounds and aches all the same at the thought of seeing Keiji? He doesn’t think so.  
  
 “Yeah—yeah, we’re sort of, like? Friends? I guess.” He shrugs. Doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter. He misses being with all of his friends at the same time.  
  
 Kenma nudges him out of the way with his hip. “If you say so.” He says. “Fetch the baking powder? It’s in the cabinet to your right.”  
  
  
  
 Testsurou and Daichi get there first.  
  
 “Bo! It’s been too long since I last saw you!” Tetsurou says as he curls into Koutarou’s side as if they didn’t go grocery shopping together a day before. As if he didn’t push Koutarou around in a trolley just yesterday, making car sounds all the while. Daichi sighs and rubs his temple while seating himself on the red puff by the television. He really needs to fix his sleeping pattern, Koutarou thinks.  
  
 “I know!” Koutarou answers just before Shouyou invites himself to plop down next to his other side. “You haven’t aged a day, Tetsu.”  
  
 Tetsurou snorts softly. Daichi gives up rubbing his eyes and blinks at Koutarou.  
  
 “Hey,” He smiles. “How are you doing? Thanks for helping that idiot with groceries, we finally have pickles at home.”  
  
 Kenma opens the door when it’s knocked again, Konoha’s loud greeting barely washes out Keiji’s. It sounds normal, actually. But in an alternate time line, Koutarou would be next to him. They’d visit their friends together, because they’d come here from the flat they’re sharing. Koutarou feels himself tense. A year of barely contained feelings twitch in his gut. Tetsurou squeezes his shoulder softly.  
  
 And then they’re a normal group of friends hanging out on a sunny Sunday, sharing laughter and teasing words, stories and thoughts.  
  
 Except, Koutarou has to remind himself to not stare, not to say anything starting with “when we...”  
  
 He has to remind himself that he’s holding a breath, he should unclench his jaw, should act normal.  
  
  


 Daichi gets a phone call from a colleague, leaves to check on them. Konoha excuses himself because he needs to go get ready or he’ll be late to his date with Mari.  
  
 Shouyou is singing to the cat in his lap as Kenma barely keeps himself awake, phone dangling from his hand.  
  
 Tetsurou stands up and stretches until one or two joints crack. “Right,” He says as he looks at Kenma with a smile on his face. “We should get going too. This much social interaction is too much for Kenma here.” Koutarou chuckles. Kenma has always been the one to doze off in day time and stay up the nights.  
  
 “Seems like it.” Keiji says as he gets up from the couch too. “Thank you for everything. Shouyou, I’ll see you at the exhibition next week?”  
  
 Shouyou vibrates where he is. “Yes!” He breathes out, then, looking like he’s searching for a reaction, he sends Koutarou a fleeting glimpse. “I’ll text you later so we can decide the time, Akaashi-san.” 

  
 It’s no surprise, after all, Keiji still has a life and friends. So does Shouyou. But neither information helps quelch the wave of longing rising in him. 

 

 

 When they’re finally out of the apartment they fall into a scheming cat’s hands. 

 

 “You two have some time?” Tetsurou asks, that unimpressed look etched tightly on his face. 

 

 Keiji hums without looking at any of them. 

 

 “Well, I’m gonna go check out that flat.” Koutarou replies. He fishes his phone out of his pocket. “The landlord will be there in-- uh, half an hour.” From the corner of his eye he catches something shifting in Keiji’s eyes. 

 

 Koutarou feels exhausted, God, it feels like they’re high schoolers who are playing games and running circles around each other. It shouldn’t have come to this point with the only person who gets him truly.

 

 “That’s enough time. Even considering how stubborn you both are.” 

 

 Keiji’s eyes settle on Tetsurou: 

 

 “Enough time for?” 

 

 Koutarou places his hands on either sides of his waist so it will be easier to fiddle with his t-shirt. 

 

 Tetsurou looks away then. The asymmetric front of his charcoal hair is dipped in gold from the afternoon sun. He licks his lips into movement again.

 

 “I don’t want to meddle much. It’s-- yeah, we’ve all been through shit together and whatnot but it’s not entirely my place.” His gaze returns to Koutarou and Keiji and vice versa like a lighthouse illuminating around. “You two need to talk. If we’re all going to hang out together again, you two need to talk.”

 

 Thankfully, Keiji is first to reply.

 

 “We don’t want to make anything awkward between the group.” His voice is controlled; measured and unreadable like velvet draped over a hard surface. Koutarou nods as he reminds himself to breathe.

 

 Tetsurou laughs. It’s not really amused. “You already are.” 

 

 Koutarou cranes his neck right, then left. What is he expected to say now? 

 

 Their friend digs his hands into his pockets as if to hide them. “Just talk.” He says. “Haven’t you both suffered enough?” And with one small smile, he’s off.

  
  


 Seconds imitate minutes, trying to last longer. Koutarou knows Keiji is pulling at his fingers without even looking. He settles to a rapid rhythm with weak snaps of fingers. It’s better than standing still in silence.

 

 “I have no problem with being friends again.” Koutarou whips his head up to look at the man in front of him.  _ I have problems only staying as friends.  _ “Not like you’re unpleasant to be friends with or anything-- I mean, like, I’d love to be friends again.” Koutarou winces at the ramble he just spilt between them.

 

 “I’d…” Keiji starts, then stops and licks his lips. Koutarou curses himself for following the action. “...like that too.” he says. 

 

 “Yeah?” Koutarou breathes. He’s just happy that the prolonging silence is disturbed, he tells himself. Still, a smile pulls at his lips.

 

 “Yeah.” Keiji smiles a bit too. It’s not entirely there, but it’s something. 

 

 “Cool!” Koutarou babbles, taking a step back. He’s not sure if this is what Tetsu asked of them.

 

 “Cool, indeed.” Keiji nods. His eyes look more green than blue under the sunshine that’s coating them heavily and slowly, like honey. Koutarou suddenly wants to stay. 

 

 “I’ll--” He gulps. He doesn’t want to be late. “I’ll see you around?” The question comes out more fragile than he hopes. 

 

 “Sure.” Keiji says casually.  _ Like it doesn’t matter. _ “Good evening, Bokuto-san.” 

 

 Koutarou ignores the strain on his name coming from the once familiar lips.

 

 “Yeah. Later, Akaashi.”   
  


_   
_ _ 10 months and 16 days after; 8 months and 25 days before _   


 It feels like second nature, being around Keiji again. It feels familiar, since he’s already devoted his time to get Keiji to open up once before, when they first met. It’s normal for them to talk. Koutarou just has to hold the scorching questions on the tip of his tongue and dodge the issue that has been picking him apart piece by piece for the last year.  
  
 He smiles more nowadays, doesn’t bother thinking whether they’re genuine or not. It doesn’t matter. He always has been an open book to read. So he just holds the smile when they’re all hanging out, doesn’t let it falter when he’s asked if he likes his new place, when all empty walls do is to highlight a second heartbeart’s absence next to his.  
  
 He talks about his team, mentions how happy he got when the kids surprised him with a little gift. He listens to Kenma talk about the progress he and his colleagues made in the early stages of the game they’re developing. He doesn’t look surprised when Keiji butts into the conversation.  
  
 All is normal. He just has to ignore the sad and questioning looks from his friends. He just has to act like he falls for the nonchalant look Keiji tries so hard to place in his foggy rivers of eyes.  
  
 But all Koutarou is, still, a hurt man in love.  
  
 So he follows Keiji from the door he left open for him, follows him down a path where they both know they shouldn’t take.  
  
 The night is similar to the many ones they’ve shared before. They move in practiced ease but hold their breaths. They both don’t dare speak for some time. Koutarou slips out of the bed that used to be his too, like a thief that stole a sip from a life he won’t get back again. He slips out of a sleepy embrace he doesn’t deserve anymore.

  
  
  


_1 year after; 7 months and 11 days before_ _  
_  
 They add one more topic to the pile of things they don’t mention.  
  
 Keiji replies to the seldom texts he sends. They don’t double guess when they are invited to hang out all together. Koutarou tells his mom he’s now used to his new flat, tells Tetsurou and Daichi he’s enjoying it in his new place and bee-lines to the flat with too many memories etched into the walls.  
  
 He litters the soft expanse of neck in front of him with purple to red blooms and acts like he isn’t aware of how the hickeys are the only thing Keiji has in his life from him.  
  
 It’s a double edged knife. He gets to steal moments from what they used to be and cherishes them more than he’d like to admit yet he still silently changes into his clothes and closes doors behind him, like he never was there.  
  
 But Keiji throws a rock to the otherwise still water on the anniversary of their parting.  
  
 “Koutarou,” he says. His name still fits those lips too much.  
  
 He hums against his neck and plants one or two more selfish kisses.  
  
 “Stop, Koutarou.” He closes his eyes and waits. At least the position they’re in allows him to hide the expression on his face. Keiji’s hands fly to his chest, right over the heart he’s broken and shoves.  
  
 He takes two steps back and lets himself watch the strikingly beautiful face in front of him. “What’s wrong?” Keiji has his eyebrows turned down considerably -- never a good sign. With some effort, Koutarou notes that his lips are trembling. Shadows of emotions pass his eyes like clouds on a stormy day, fast and ill fated.

  
 “This,” He sounds like how Koutarou’s feeling: Close to crying.

 

  Ironically enough, one word sums it up too well. “Everything.” Another word that fits. Akaashi Keiji has always been better than him with words. “How did we get here?” _I’m not entirely sure either._ _  
_  
 He pulls away completely. It doesn’t feel right to invest in the body warmth he’s missing when its owner is nearly crying. He knows what’s coming.  
  
 “I can’t do this anymore.”  
  
 But it’s not enough to prepare him.  
  
 Keiji starts crying. It reminds Koutarou of holding a bird, feeling its heartbeat and realizing how fleeting it is. How strangely open it is.   
  
 “This isn’t right.” _Nothing’s been right for the last year._ _  
_  
 “Keiji.” It always hurts him twice more when Keiji cries. “I just—“ _Please don’t cry._ “I miss you, you know?” _I miss us._ “Without you, it’s—“ _unbearable_. The rest of his sentence dies to give life to his fresh tears.  
  
 “We’re broken.” Keiji says. He has a hand wiping and gathering his own tears.  
  
 “But _why_?” _Why did you let me go?_ _  
_  
 Keiji squeezes his eyes. Koutarou can feel his breaths picking up pace. They were in this flat, a year ago, with the shouts resonating from the walls and words purely lashed out with the intent of hurt accompanying them.  
  
 “We want different things,” Keiji answers. Either his throat is closing on itself or Koutarou’s ears are refusing to operate.  
  
 Different things? Koutarou wanted the same thing he always did. He wanted the same thing he realized he wants when he watched Keiji play with his niece that day in spring, flowers framing them. 

  
 “All I wanted was for us to be a family.”  
  
 They have threaded their years – the most precious ones maybe, their youths – together through thick and thin. Was it too surprising for Koutarou to want to share their upcoming years too?  
  
 Keiji pales at that. “It was too much, too fast.” The wheeze on his voice distantly worries a corner of Koutarou’s mind.  
  
 “Too fast?” The tears are still tickling their way down his cheeks as he talks. Too fast? How much longer should they have waited? A decade? Until their last moments? “We were together for _years_ , Keiji.” _I thought you’d learn how to trust me by then._ “I could have waited on the kids, but I—“ His voice fails him.  
  
 Koutarou feels like he’s drowning on all the feelings he tried to wash away with whatever destruction he could get his hands on. It’s torturous, feels like a knife is stabbing and cutting around his heart, not sparing him from the pain by ending it with a move on where it hurts the most.  
  
 “I wanted you _forever_ and I thought you felt the same.” _Wanted? Want. Still do._ _  
_  
 “I did.” Keiji whispers. _Did. Not anymore._ A drop of pitch black acid drops and moves in Koutarou’s stomach. Burns. “But you never—we never— it wasn’t something we ever discussed. You can’t just spring it on someone.”  
  
 As if Koutarou wasn’t the one who always sprung ideas back and forth. As if it ever bothered Keiji before. “Well that’s how I am!” He throws one, no, both hands in the air. “I’m all or nothing.”  
  
 “I just... wasn’t ready.” Keiji says, looking on the brink of collapsing. Koutarou’s own voice screams at him in his mind to comfort the soul he loves too much. But he’s not sure if he's got it in himself.  
  
 “You just think too much.” _Same old, same old._ He turns to the door with great effort. “I thought you felt enough to not have to think. But you just can’t help analyze every little thing and it seriously pisses me off.” A bittersweet chuckle breathes into life and dies quickly in his throat. Koutarou always had to read between the lines with Keiji, between the almost same two expressions, between the time he takes to answer and carefully picked words but it hasn’t been a problem before. 

 

 But now he just wishes he wasn’t so used to it, if it would mean that he won’t notice how Keiji is too wrapped up in his thoughts to consider his own emotions. 

  
 “Even right now, you’re thinking about how to answer best.” Koutarou continues. _You don’t have to think about it._  “I don’t want your best, Keiji, I want your honest.” _You being yourself is the best already._  
  
 Keiji drops his gaze to the floor. The pained look doesn’t suit him at all. Maybe, Koutarou gives it a thought he hadn’t had the courage to do so before, maybe I was too much. Maybe I failed to see what he wanted. I assumed, I was wrong, too pushy, too much like they always said—  
  
 He clicks his tongue just to snap him out of the moment. He can basically hear the thoughts churning in Keiji’s mind. 

 

 He just needs to get away.   
  
 “Exactly my point. Bye, Akaashi.”  
  
 His voice sounds alien to him as he turns away. He ignores the pounding in his heart, ignores the ashes in his lungs. Lies to himself that this is the best, this is what Keiji probably wants.  
  
 It doesn’t matter how tight his chest is as he walks out the door. Doesn’t matter how his limbs ache with the longing, _just go back, go back, please go back_ , doesn’t matter how his eyes burn.  
  
 And if he hears a sobbing sound from behind, he doesn’t act on it.  
  
  
_1:02 am_  
To: BROKURO  
fcuk  
  
To: BROKURO  
im rlly fucked up rihgt now  
  
_1:04 am_  
From: BROKURO  
where are you bo  
  
_1:06 am_  
From: BROKURO  
kou tell me where i’m almost out the door  
  
_1:07 am_  
To: BROKURO  
at the park we alwyas go  
  
To: BROKURO  
can we wakl and talk heree when yuo come  
  
From: BROKURO  
of course. i’ll grab two jackets and be there in five  
  
To: BROKURO  
thnak you s much tetsu  
  


  
  


_ 1 year and 3 months after; 4 months and 11 days before _

 

__ Koutarou forces a polite smile for the fifth time in the last minute. It’s not the woman’s fault, he knows that. She’s not the one Koutarou’s annoyed at either. 

 

 He curses  _ himself  _ when he finally dodges the conversation in a socially acceptable way and practically runs back to his car. Because he still approaches others in only two ways: Keiji and not Keiji. And naturally, there is only one person who is Keiji. 

 

 Women, men, they’re all attractive but… they’re not Keiji. 

 

 With a sigh as deep as a running river, he sends Tetsurou an owl picture he found on the internet when he couldn’t sleep and acts like he isn’t hiding in his car, biting the living shit out of his lips.

 

_ 7:04 pm _

From: BROKURO

bwahaha it looks like you

 

To: BROKURO

what gave away??? eye?s?

  
  


_ 7:12 pm _

From: BROKURO

yeah

 

From: BROKURO

hey come over daichi’s out of town and i’m bored n lonely

 

To: BROKURO

you rllly shuold read yur texts twice b4 sending them

  
  


_ 7:15 pm _

From: BROKURO

and u really should learn how to type.

 

From: BROKURO 

just come over i have that stupid wine you love, plus it’s your best friend duty

  
  


_ 7:18 pm _

To: BROKURO

…

 

To: BROKURO

i love you too tetsu

 

To: BROKURO

i’l be theree in 1 5

  
  


_ 7:20 pm _

From: BROKURO

yay!

 

From: BROKURO

also you better put that phone aside while driving or i’ll seriously kick your ass so hard

  
  


 “Ugh.” Tetsurou grimaces again. “How do you even drink this crap?” He shakes his head and gives Koutarou his glass back. Koutarou chuckles as he breathes in the sharp and sour smell of wine.

 

 “It’s called having great taste, look it up.”

 

 The taller male rolls his almond shaped eyes and leaps out of the couch. “I’m gonna get myself something different.” He says while disappearing into the kitchen. “Something that actually tastes good.”

 

 Then, there is a knock at the door.

 

 Koutarou sets the glass aside and strides over to welcome the person. He blinks when he is met with a panting, red all over the face Akaashi Keiji. 

 

 “Keiji? Did you run here?” 

 

 The man in the question nods in his doubled over state. Koutarou barely stops himself from commenting on how out of shape he is. “Is… Is Tetsurou home?”

 

 With scrunched eyebrows and a step to his side, he lets Keiji in. Still, Koutarou wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t talk too much, so he asks:

 

 “Is something wrong?”

 

 “I need to punch something.” comes the answer, stilling Koutarou where he is. He had never heard something like that from Keiji before, which says a lot, considering that Koutarou was there through the teenage years where even Akaashi was a bit stupid. “You-- what happened?” 

 

 Keiji’s lip curls for a second as he returns his gaze. But before he can say anything, the huge cat that is Kuroo Tetsurou sticks his head out of the fridge. “Keiji? What are you doing here?” 

 

“I need to punch something.” Keiji says once again like it’s a universal truth.  _ Huh, he used to sketch or write when he was upset. _ Tetsurou’s expression shifts and Koutarou reflects back the look the taller male gives him. “Date didn’t go well?”

 

 Oh so that’s why. That… is new information, one Koutarou honestly isn’t sure what to do with. Keiji sips at the water he got, his eyes on Tetsurou. “Guy’s an ass.” 

 

 Koutarou plops down onto one of the uncomfortable chairs Daichi insisted looks minimal and _just fits the kitchen, damnit, it’s my house too._ He opts to stay silent as Keiji sits next to him - it’s normal, they’re friends \- and quotes what the guy-- _his date_ said.

 

 He does his best to not feel happy that Keiji is now really upset with the man and likely won’t try again with him. He does his best to distract himself from the new dagger that joined the others, right behind his heart. 

 

 Koutarou counts up to thirty silently in his head, then counts back as Tetsurou whistles. 

 

 “I mean, he’s not wrong, but he didn’t have to say it like that. It’s not something to be fixed.” His friend says. Koutarou rests his chin on his hand. So, Keiji is moving on, is - or maybe was - seeing someone. 

 

 It feels like the bridge between is shattered now, pieces scattered in the unknown underneath. 

 

 The breath Koutarou sucks in is filled with shards of glass, shards of what they had once. It hurts to even think that someone else is lucky enough to have Keiji’s undivided attention for a couple of hours when he has to chase and catch those beautiful eyes for seconds of eye contact.

 

 But here’s the catch, he’s still breathing: Years ago, he gave his heart away knowing that Keiji might not want it. Sure, they were close and he had more reasons to believe that Keiji felt the same than he didn’t. But rejection was a possibilty -- and it didn’t stop him then.

 

  It’s not like he loves him solely to be loved back, anyways. 

 

 He loves him because he simply has no reasons not to, even when it makes him toss and turn until sleep pities him. If Keiji’s happy, then Koutarou would rather swallow his tears and smile for him. 

 

 “Right,” Keiji answers, jostling him back into the present. Koutarou’s movement attracts greenish blue eyes on him. “What?”

 

 “I just... It’s--” He sighs, it’s not filled with sadness as he feared it to be. “You don’t ‘overlook’ who a person is.”  _ Then what’s left of that person to love?  _

 

 “You understand and accept them.”  _ Like we did for each other.  _

 

 They don’t break eye contact for some time. 

 

 Koutarou’s mom always used to say that his eyes are open books, ready to tell the world how he feels. He knows that’s the case now, too. It’s okay, Keiji is an avid reader, anyways.

 

 The man causing the glint in his eyes looks away first.

 

 “You’re absolutely right, Bokuto-san.”

  
  
  


_ 1 year and 6 months and 4 days after; 1 month and 7 days before _

 

__ The early morning breeze whistles into the gym from open doors the late students use to hurry inside. The squeaks of sneakers are a comforting background noise for Koutarou as the team finishes the second lap. There is a smile on his face - he knows that because that smug little wing spiker always teases him about it - and he’s bouncing slightly on his toes. 

 

 They should practice serves right away, he plans, humming to himself. Serves first, then some receives - there is no need for 3 on 3 matches since they’re already going to play a practice match with Nekoma, but it would be wise to-- his phone buzzes once in his pocket.

 

_ 8:08 am _

From: Keiji<333

Just thought you should konw my mom got in an accident and  is in the hospital. I jsut arrived with akinori

 

 Koutarou doesn’t register what he’s reading at first. He doesn’t want to, that would mean it’s true. 

 

 As his heart finally catches up and picks up pace, he reads the text again, then again and again. He looks over the gym as boys scatter into groups of threes and twos and start doing the warm ups before slipping out of gym doors. 

 

 With shaking hands and a mind that still refuses to believe, he calls Keiji but the operator informing him that the number he’s called is out of reach is the only one who answers. In a state of haze, Koutarou returns to the gym. Boys of various heights, bunch of different backstories and one shared love for the sport, are adjusting their knee pads. The captain jogs over to him.

 

 Before the teenager can say anything, Koutarou places one hand on his shoulder. He’s not sure if the gesture is to ground himself or to greet the boy. His mind is working in overdrive, he realizes, because he’s already guiding the team through the practice:

 

 “Let’s start with some serves, yeah? And-- Yeah, no need to rush. Just make sure the team won’t be late after school, we gotta meet up in front of the bus.” He hopes the slight tremble in his voice goes unnoticed.

 

 Then, as the dutiful captain strides away, he begins pacing. 

 

 The smacks of palms meeting volleyballs, then volleyballs meeting the floor reaches him as he watches the practice, mind elsewhere. Then his phone rings, making him flinch. It’s Konoha.

 

 The day is a blur after he gets the confirmation that, yes, Kimie is in the hospital, it can take some time for the doctors to say anything certain and he is not surprised to find his fingers tapping nervously on any surface they can reach. 

  
  
  


 Koutarou is reminded again that gathering a dozen and a half teenagers into a bus with a schedule is a natural source of headache. Even with his assistant now here to help him, it’s difficult.

 

 “Tada-kun just sit down for god’s sake. Even Shouyou wasn’t this bouncy.”

 

 “No, we’re not gonna take a break. It’s a 20 minute ride.”

 

 “How did Yanase manage to fall asleep in this chaos? Get him up, we’re here.”

 

 Once they’re surrounded by bright lights and the unmistakable plastic smell of a gym once again, he rubs his temples. Their setter already looks bored, and half of the team is so distracted that Koutarou’s surprised they haven’t tripped over their feet and face planted and he’s sure Tada is about to start a fight with that tall player from Nekoma. Still, all of them halts when he speaks.

 

 “Okay, listen here. Nekoma has a traditional style where they simply adapt and use it against you, without having a single whole in their defense.” Someone gulps audibly. 

 

 Koutarou chuckles as he claps his hands once. With the sudden text from the morning, he had no way to arrange a visit to Kimie today. Plus, Keiji’s phone was still off - he checked. So, he had no other option to wait until Keiji or Konoha informed him about her condition, battling anxiety driven thoughts and fears meantime. Being around his students helped keep his mind off a hospital room it kept drifting to. 

 

 “Do your best to learn from them, I know how hard you all practiced. You have it all in you to win.” He says into the circle they’ve formed, eyes searching each face that looks up at him. “And as I always say: Have fun! You can’t know when the moment that’ll--”

 

 The jet black haired wing spiker rolls his eyes and says it with him before taking the attention off of Koutarou entirely:

 

 “--the moment that’ll get you hooked on volleyball will arrive, don’t miss it being nervous.” He quotes with a sly smile. “Yeah coach, you always say that.” His team mate next to him elbows him in the ribs. 

 

 “Well, yeah!” Koutarou answers. He should remind himself why was he fond of the smug second year sometime. “Because it’s true. Now off you go! Start warming up.” He squeezes the shoulders closest to him and smiles at them as they yell their replies enthusiastically.

 

 “Thank you, for agreeing to cover me tomorrow... It’s-- It means a lot, some serious things came up.” He turns to his assistant when the team scatters away. 

 

 “Of course, Bokuto-san. It’s no trouble at all.” he gets his answer. 

 

 With nothing much left to do for the next fifteen minutes or so, he informs his colleague that he’s going to get them both something from the vending machine, he slips out of the gym only to run into - or rather, trip over - their first year libero who’s doubled over, sitting on the ground, leaning into the wall.

 

 “Uh, coach?” Comes the trembling sound from the boy hugging his knees to his chest as his life depends on it.

 

 It doensn’t take long for Koutarou to take in the red, puffy eyes looking up at him. The boy’s shaking like his voice did seconds ago and his shallow, too fast breaths cut the silence between them.

 

 “Hey,” Koutarou says as softly as he can, slides down next to the fragile figure, mindful of not stepping in too close. “What’s wrong, Ando?”

 

 The boy just shakes his head, in time with his hitching breath. That’s when Koutarou realizes the fingers the young libero is digging into his sides.

 

 “Okay, I need you to breathe with me right now.” Koutarou says. He moves a bit trying to get his sports jacket off. “Breathe in.” He guides the boy, remembering the times he helped Yukie not drown in her worry back at high school. He counts four seconds. “Breathe out, slowly.” 

 

 Koutarou leads him to calmer breathes for a handful of times before folding his jacket and placing it on Ando’s lap.

 

 The boy’s brown eyes focus on him again, questioning.

 

 “Clench the fabric in your hands,” he says, administring the motion with air. “It will help you feel more… here.” 

 

 It’s always hurtful to come across brains that backfire and Koutarou sometimes feels like he fell short on helping those around him. Regretfully, he knows there is only so much he can do. After all, they all are trying to get through one thing or another, trying to postpone the loneliness that every bone in every body originally is destined to live.

 

 “We don’t have to return to the gym.” He says after a moment. Ando looks up from Koutarou’s crumbled jacket in his lap. 

 

 “I--” he says, but the rest is buried in his breathing he’s trying to even. He shakes his head once again. 

 

 “It’s okay. Just focus on your breathing now. Focus on the wall behind your back, focus on my voice. The fabric in your hands. You’re here, you’re okay.”

 

 The boy next to him nods this time. They wait for a few heartbeats until Ando speaks again.

 

 “Thank you, coach.”

  
  
  


_ 1 year and 6 months and 5 days after; 1 month and 6 days before _

 

 The night is as tiring as his day was, with the sorry amount of sleep he got. He stumbles out of his bed and into his kitchen for something quick to not starve. And in a record time, he’s out of his flat.

 

 He replays the blurry nightmare his last day was in his mind, trying to feel calmer. Kimie was in an accident,  _ she’s unconscious, but okay _ just like Keiji’s text said. Konoha was with him through the day but he thinks Koutarou should know what happened and maybe be there for Keiji just like he said on the phone. Tetsurou, Daichi, Shouyou and Kenma are all informed too, they will visit as soon as they can but they also don’t want to make an unnecessary crowd in the already tense hospital environment.

 

 Right, that’s all he got.

 

 His legs steer him into the flower shop he used to visit before his weekly tea with Kimie. 

 

 Koutarou is in a haze, until he pays for the snapdragons and gets out of the shop. They’re pink, her favourite color, and lively. He stops the sob unraveling from his throat with the back of his hand just in the last minute. 

 

 He hadn’t had the time to be scared yesterday. But now, sitting in his car, oblivious and pretty snapdragons on the seat next to him, he feels  _ terrified. _

 

 “She’s strong.” He whispers to the flowers. She is one of the two strongest people Koutarou knows, the other being his own mother. “She’s going to be okay.” He whispers again, this time, to himself.

 

 With a soft jostle, he parks the car, gets out, flowers in his hand and walks with too wide steps. Answering the receptionist is a blur as he thinks of Keiji.

 

 Koutarou knows his mind is in some kind of overdrive. He feels exhausted, his back hurts from sitting next to a cold stone wall with Ando for so long, there is a certain ache in his jaw from clenching but he doesn’t falter for even a second. He knows that it’s his worry for Keiji that gives him strength.

 

 Facing years together taught Koutarou how to support Keiji when the world showed claws and fangs; he knows how to help.

 

 But maybe he should worry for himself too.

 

 In the room number 104, with a bed surrounded by various machines humming as they are sharing a secret only them and the woman laying there can hear,  Akaashi Keito is slumped over on a chair.

 Koutarou can’t find it himself to look at Kimie first.

 

 Keiji’s father raises his head when he hears the footsteps and breaks into a soft smile despite the dark circles lining under his eyes. “Koutarou!” He greets, his voice is scratchy, either from not speaking for a long time or from whispering pleas and prayers all night.

 

 Koutarou smiles as Keito gets up to hug. The older man leans on him more than he normally should and Koutarou shoulders the weight without a doubt. 

 

 He’s aware of how his energetic, warm nature makes people in his life to turn to him for support. It’s no secret. It’s not bragging, too, he concludes. It means he’s doing a great job at giving back the love he gets.

 

 So he knows how important to hold himself together, at least in front of him. 

 

 “How’s she? How are you?” He asks as Keito steps back. 

 

 “Doctors said she might be unconcious for a couple of days.” He sighs. It’s so weary and filled with unshed tears, Koutarou gulps. “I’ll be okay.” Keito smiles again. There are things only years could grant in exchange of things they took from him on his smile, Koutarou feels small. 

 

 Keito’s phone rings curtly before either can say anything, and he excuses himself out of the room.

 

 That’s when Koutarou looks at her. She lays still, so still that he locks his golden eyes on her until he sees the reassuring rise and fall of her chest. Various cables and needles swirl around the bed until they reach her, there are cuts still open on her face, arms, chest; bandages appear and get lost on her now fragile looking body. 

 

 Something beeps steadily as he sets the vase and the flowers down on the table next to her bed. He tells himself that she’s going to wake up even before Koutarou will change the flowers and get fresh ones.

 

“Koutarou!” Konoha’s voice cuts through the moment. They hug after the man sets down the packets in his hand and strides past a baffled Keiji. “What are you doing here?” 

 

 What kind of a question is that? Where else would he be? “Well, Keiji texted me and you called, so--” His voice breaks, slowly, like his previous haze. 

 

 “You called him?” Keiji asks. He looks just as Koutarou feared he would: Like a total mess. 

 

 His face is devoid of color, save for the darkness under his eyes and red in his eyeballs. He looks like he’s functioning on one last drop of energy left in him. And his voice is loaded with a sadness that bleed through sealed doors self control.

 

 Konoha steps away from him. These two are persistent on asking pointless questions, it seems. Were they really expecting him to not do anything? To not show up? 

 

 Whatever hurt, fear or pride pierced holes into the relationship between him and Keiji, it never really robbed them off of their pasts. They were each other’s pillars before, they can be again now.

 

 “I wasn’t sure if you had told him and I thought he deserved to know.” 

 

 Keiji looks wobbly on his feet. “ _ You _ thought? This is my family, Akinori.”

 

 Koutarou used to be a part of the family too. Or so he thought.

 

 “I would have come anyways.” He says. It rolls of easily from his tongue. Because in every reailty, it is true. That’s how he is able to still stand without crumbling here.

 

 The sound of Keiji’s deep breath is loud in the room, then the machine beeps to butt in. 

 

 “Where’s my dad?” He asks, looking straight at Koutarou. 

 

 Koutarou uses this chance to search the eyes looking back at him. They’re open and pained, probably because Keiji is too tired to hide anything. Probably because at this point, he doesn’t have to.

 

 “He went to make a call,” Koutarou answers and hopes Keiji won’t say something stubborn.

 

 “How long have you been here?” He asks instead. His voice is better now, feels more like its owner is here.

 

 Koutarou turns to Kimie then, reaches one hand to her’s, pleading that what he’s reaching out will not crumble and scatter away. “Maybe ten minutes.” She looks older since she’s motionless; face steady and expressionless. Nevertheless, she is the strong and beautiful woman Koutarou knows and he feels his anticipation for her return in his bones.

 

 “How long do you plan on staying?”

 

 That’s a question everyone in the room knows the answer of, so Koutarou replies with the determination that caused the fact in the first place:

 

 “Until she wakes up.”

  
  
  
  


 They don’t wake Keiji up when he falls asleep on the chair, his head right next to Kimie’s hand as if awaiting her to wake up and smooth down his hair. 

 

 Koutarou does his best to remind Keito that she will be okay, he needs to eat and get fresh air and stretch. The older man laughs gently, in oppose to Koutarou’s loud one, as they talk about how Koutarou unknowingly made a mess at dinner, three christmasses ago. 

 

 He feels good that he drew a laugh from the tired man but the memory is so colorful unlike this hospital room, it just highlights how far away those days seem now. 

 

 Koutarou resists the urge to walk over and drape his jacket on Keiji’s sleeping form. It is difficult when the younger one seems so lost and adrift and he just wants to reach out and pull Keiji back into his arms. They haven’t been quite right without his comforting weight between them.

  
  


_ 1 year and 6 months and 8 days after; 1 month and 3 days before _

 

 Koutarou spends the last couple of days in the house he used to pick up Keiji to walk to morning practice together from, with the person he visited here many, many times.

 

 Just like time hadn’t intervened with fists of steel and claws of ice, they fit together smoothly. Koutarou stands close and squeezes Keiji’s shoulder reassuringly when doctors inform them on how she’s holding up, what are they expecting given her stats. Keiji reaches out and taps his finger slightly on Koutarou’s jaw when he notices him clenching it. 

 

 In turns, they hold each other up against looming fears and trembling exhaustion.

  
  


Breakfasts are Koutarou’s favorite. Even when everything is drenched in worry for something they both can’t change, sunlight caresses Keiji’s face as they sit across each other and he laughs along Koutarou’s story. Like they never fell apart.

 

 It feels weird even, to think they fell apart in the first place, when they still fit like jagged puzzle pieces and move around each other in a dance where only they hear the music of.

 

 Keiji’s phone picks up from where their conversation left with that loud ringtone of his, sending both men flinching. 

“Hello?” Keiji asks and in the next instant, he is jumping out of his chair, eyes glazed over. “Are you serious?” A laugh that would put Tetsurou to shame tumbles out of his lips.

 

 “We’ll be right there.” 

 

 That is enough signal for Koutarou to get up too. “Keiji?” he asks while standing close, he wouldn’t be surprised if Keiji lost his balance after leaping out like that. They haven’t been getting enough rest for the last three days or so. But the man in front of him is vibrating, on his face a grin so natural that Koutarou smiles too: “Keiji, what is it?”

 

 “She’s awake!” The next time Keiji blinks, it brings tears of joy with it. 

 

 “Kou, my mom is awake! She’s awake and alive and we can talk to her!” 

 

 Without really thinking, Koutarou spins Keiji around because -  _ she’s awake! -  _ and Keiji is crying and laughing from happiness and -  _ she’s okay, thank god _ \- and reaches with no hesitation and places an expressive kiss on Keiji’s cheek. 

 

 Because that’s what he would do if they were still together. 

 

 Because that’s what he should do. “Let’s go!”

  
  
  
  


 Koutarou notes how everyone is crying when Kimie drags them into a hug. It’s not the first time she’s done that. Keito, Keiji and him were dragged into affection like this on both graduations -- high school and college, on a handful of new year’s eves, on sunday mornings where Koutarou and Keiji stayed over. It feels right. 

 

 “Oh, Keiji,” Kimie coos. It’s the voice of a mother that promises everything will be okay. “My beautiful boy, I missed you.” She has a hand on Keiji’s cheek after they each take a step back. 

 

 Keiji’s eyes are teary as he smiles. “I’ll visit more often, I swear.” 

 

 Kimie beams at that, pushing past the pain: “You should join Koutarou and I for weekly tea!”

 

 That would be great, Koutarou muses but keeps himself from distracting the mother and son from their moment.

 

 “You-your what? You and Bo--” Keiji sputters but his voice lacks the conviction for Koutarou to be worried over.

 

 “Listen, Keiji,” Kimie says, completely ignoring her son. “I’m so glad you’re here. You and Keito and Koutarou mean so much to me.” She smiles sloppily as painkillers make their way in her body. 

 

 “This family means so much to me.”

 

 Life has a tough way of reminding people what they have: By showing them how easily they can be taken away. The realization sticks like glue on them, Koutarou sees it in the way Keito somehow looks even younger after a rough, rough week; sees it in the way Keiji’s opposition dissolves. 

 

 “You’re right mom, family is everything.”

  
  
  


_ 1 year, 6 months and 15 days after; 24 days before _

 

_ 3:52 pm _

From: Keiji<333

I’m coming back tomorrow. Can we talk?

 

To: Keiji<333

Yes!!!!

 

To: Keiji<333

Tetsu hs a thing plannd tho so…

 

To: Keiji<333

Shit i wsnt supsd to say

 

From: Keiji<333

Your texting is truly atrocious. What has he planned?

 

To: Keiji<333

I cnt tell u!!

  
  


_ 4:04 pm _

From: BROKURO

oh my god

 

From: BROKURO

you couldn’t hold yourself, could you

 

From: BROKURO

it’s like that time when you spoilt kenma’s surprise party all over again

  
  


_ 4:05 pm _

To: BROKURO

damnnit that ws an accidetn

 

To: BROKURO

and it was yearss ago let me lvie it down

 

From: BROKURO

no.

  
  
  


_ 1 year and 7 months and 11 days after; 1 hour before _

 

 Koutarou thought he was ready for everything when Keiji first drunkenly asked - then confirmed when he was sober - for Koutarou to go on a date with him. Keiji even told him to trust him again and everything.

 

 But an  _ owl cafe  _ exceeds his expectations. With the taste of coffee on his tongue and one of the worker’s “Sir, please don’t stick your hand into the cage.” on his ears and most importantly, Keiji on his side, he feels giddy already.

 

 Then Keiji took them to a park and said that he can toss to him. It’s just as much fun as high school, Koutarou remembers, even in his bigger body and heavier heart. Minus the thrill of winning against someone else, of course.

 

 After that, they walked around the lake, Keiji smiling as Koutarou feels the happiness and the energy in him gets out as laughter and bouncing. It feels good to have Keiji’s genuine smile and attention on him again.

 Koutarou it the most happiest he has been in the last two years or so.

  
  


 Just because they can’t get enough of each other and now can indulge in the other’s presence, they have dinner and head over to Keiji’s to watch a movie. Rather than the chain of events that set them adrift, Koutarou only sees the happy memories when he looks around. Plus, Keiji is sat next to him, giggling and blushing and  _ so happy _ as he tells a story, so Koutarou doesn’t have much time to delve into past, anyways.

  
  


  “--and Akinori--” Keiji stops to laugh again, which is honestly not that good on Koutarou’s tendency to get distracted but it’s okay, he missed that sound so much. 

 

 “--Akinori was trying to bring me the bottle, climbing over a chair, and he tripped. But then he caught himself, except the bottle flew out of his hand and he tried to catch it, which did make him fall. On his face. And the bottle spilled all over him before shattering on the floor by his hand.” Keiji even adds hand gestures in his storytelling but what’s better is how he sets his hand on Koutarou’s knee when he’s finished and they’re both laughing.

 

 Koutarou hears himself sigh, content, as Keiji stars playing with his fingers. His hand is warm, skin soft. “I missed you, Kou.” He says ever so softly. The sight of Keiji, comfortable and smiley once again, his voice like honey dipped golden hours, his hand against his, all gets stuck in a special place inside Koutarou’s rib cage; praised and preserved.

 

 “I missed you, too, Keiji.”

 

 It’s an understatement. But he will have more time to tell Keiji all about how deeply he missed him, so he doesn’t mind.

 

 Keiji’s expression shifts, his eyes focus on the couch under them, next to their joined hands. Koutarou wonders what he’s thinking and allows himself to imagine that Keiji is thinking about their next date.

 

 “I love you, Koutarou.” Keiji breathes. 

 

 Koutarou inhales from his agape lips. That wasn’t exactly how fast he was expecting things to proceed. 

 

 Keiji blushes, just like the first time he said his previous words. “Wait, wait, no, don’t say anything yet.” He rushes.

 

 Koutarou closes his mouth slowly. 

 

  “I never stopped loving you and I can’t believe I ever made you feel that way. I was scared, Kou. I thought too much, like you said, and--” Keiji’s words are well paced unlike Koutarou’s rushing thoughts.  _ I was at fault too, I pushed too suddenly. I was hurt. Never, not even once, I thought about giving up loving you. Not like I could do it even if I wanted to, anyways. _

 

But the gorgeous man now facing him full on beats him to it and talks again:

 

“I’m ready, Kou, I was ready all along. I’m sorry I was so slow on the uptake but, please, let’s go for it.”

 

 This time it’s Koutarou’s gaze which falters. He doesn’t want to rush. Maybe they should talk more before? No, fuck it, they already lost two years.

 

 He looks into the eyes he sees his future in.

 

 “Do you mean…”

 

 “Yes.” Keiji sounds breathless. “Everything. I want everything with you, Kou.”

 

 “Keiji!” He’s sure he gasped somewhere in the pronounciation but it doesn’t matter. He picks Keiji up in a bridal carry and spins him around, because appareantly that’s what Koutarou likes to do when they’re both happy. 

“I love you so much, Keiji. So, so much,” He says into his lover’s neck, then drops back on the couch, the man of his dreams still in his arms. 

 

 “Yes, Keiji, let’s do it all.”

  
  


 They kiss with the pull of their broken parts gravitating towards each other, falling in place. Maybe they had to break into pieces to become whole again, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> if anyone's wondering, yes, Ness and I bonded over our love for writing angst
> 
> thank you so much for reading! make sure you check out "when pieces fall" too, you won't regret it!
> 
> i'm @ aakaaashi at twitter if you'd like to talk about volleyball dorks


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